


Mud on Your Face

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Gen, based on a lovely post by jiang-she about war, i used to read revelations daily and it probably shows, plays hard and fast with book and show canon alike because I can, with some angel demotion hcs for ~flavor~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19346611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Cherubim are designed specifically to guard things. This is reflected in both their dispositions, and their heads."Or, perhaps, a story about consequences and how War came to be.





	Mud on Your Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiang-she](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jiang-she).



> *blows on my goverment-mandated kazoo* Welcome to the fun zone!
> 
> I think, personally, that there should be a term for the genre of Good Omens content born from your turbulent Christian upbringing. This qualifies, I'm sure! 
> 
> Also, I affectionately refer to this style of writing I do once in a blue moon as pretentious, so if you agree, awesome! 
> 
> Required reading is jiang-she's post: https://jiang-she.tumblr.com/post/185698845721/everyones-like-oh-adam-is-aziraphale-crowleys
> 
> Thank you. *blasts the kazoo harder to signify the need to start reading actual words*

Cherubim are designed specifically to guard things. This is reflected in both their dispositions, and their heads. 

 

Several charming members of the rank are stationed in front of black holes at the center of galaxies. What they are guarding is unknown. Many more guard the throne of God, not because She fears danger, but because She enjoys having the company. 

 

Some claim cherubim are the most morally superior breed of angel. This is not correct. Others believe they value themselves in equal measure. This is patently false.

 

In truth, the cherubim on a whole only pretend to understand their duties.* And they value their wings’ eyes the most. 

 

*The ones who are the worst at this eternity-long game of make believe are no longer one of them. 

* * *

 

In the beginning, there is a snake, a woman, and an odd amount of apples. There is also a man and some cherubim, but they have not entered the scene yet.

“You really should try it.” The snake coaxes. His name is Crawly. He has been working on this particular temptation for almost a week, and is rather put out by this point. “Come on. Is there  _ anything  _ I can do to convince you?” 

“Tell me what it tastes like first.” The woman asks more than demands. Her name is Eve. She has been alive for a little more than a week, and is rather put out by talking snakes who think it’s a capital idea to defy God. “Then, I shall try it.”

“Oh, it tastes  _ divine _ .” Crawly improvises.* “Splendid. Really melts in your mouth. But don’t take  _ my  _ word for it! See for yourself!”

*For a snake and a demon, both beings prone to blind instinct, this is a rather impressive feat. 

“Okay!” Eve replies warmly, for she is not very bright yet, and has come to accept the unusually loquacious snake’s intentions as good. “I don’t see how I could possibly regret this.”

Eve eats an apple. “I regret this.” She says with an unusual sort of cheer. “I think Adam ought to have some.” 

* * *

 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” says Crawly, who is mentally working through the experience of seeing Death (but not  _ death _ ) for the first time. 

None of the angel’s heads are paying attention to him. A few of the wings’ eyes blink, but that is to be expected. Eyes tend to go in for that sort of thing. 

Rain begins to fall.

“I’m sorry,” says the cherub, who kindly moves to shield him from the drops. “What was it you were saying?”

“I  _ said,  _ that one went down like a lead balloon.” 

The lion head whines balefully. The human one only coughs. “Yes, well. Consequences and all that.” He shifts. “They call me Aziraphale.” 

“Crawly.” The snake replies, looking at all four of the heads uneasily.* “Say, isn’t your lot supposed to have flaming swords?”

*Demons, on a whole, do not relax fully around cherubim. They are tied with the powers in terms of smiting rates, but the extra faces concern demons the most. It reminds them of some of their superiors.

Aziraphale’s eyes all close in unison. “Er.” He mumbles. 

“Yes, that’s right!” The serpent exclaims, picking up speed. “They’re real nice. High-grade celestial weapons. Flamed like anything. Lost it already, have you?”

 

“I… gave it away.”

Time freezes briefly. “You  _ What. _ ”

“I gave it away!” Some of the eyes devote themselves to glaring. Others avert their gaze with a sheepish air. “It’ll be cold, and oh, the baby… I worry so for their baby! So I handed it to her with my blessing. It’s been on my mind ever since.”

Below, a clever woman kills a lion. It is certainly not a good omen, in his eyes, but the serpent is unsure why he knows so. 

“The apple’s been on  _ my  _ mind. I mean, heavenly negligence aside, it’d sure be funny.” Crawly mentions idly. “I mean, if I did the good thing, and  _ you  _ did the bad thing, eh? Wouldn’t that be the joke to end all jokes?”

 

“Oh! That wouldn’t be funny at all!” He wrings his hands. “Now that you mention it-”

He fixes him with a very bored and very yellow gaze. “Don’t go around giving yourself fits. I doubt you cherubim can do anything wrong, what with being holier than thou types.”**

**It’s a sarcastic statement, but his companion doesn’t catch it. Subtlety has never been his forte after all.

Aziraphale relaxes. “You’re quite right, my dear.” He sighs with relief. “That really was the best course, and we angels can never be wrong, can we?”

“Of course.” Crawly huffs. He’s beginning to wish he had been assigned elsewhere. 

They listen to the rain. A flaming sword, freely given, is carried further away. And it is a dark and stormy night. 

(The next time they meet, Aziraphale is missing three of his heads, two of his wings, and all of his extra eyes. He is permitted to keep the hooves. Crawly does not see any of this as an improvement.)

* * *

Some time has passed since the Fall of the Garden of Eden. Abel has been buried. He is the first human to meet Death, the first to be murdered, and the first to die.

Eve is the second to accomplish the first objective, and the first to do it without dying. 

**HELLO, EVE.**

“Hello.” Eve greets him. Even after all of this time, she remembers her manners. “Have you come for me then? We should get on with it.”

 

**NO.** Death tells her. **IT IS NOT YOUR TIME YET. WHERE IS YOUR SWORD?**

She blanches. “Oh, it is not _my_ sword. It is my husband’s sword. He wields it better.”

Death stares without eyes. She can taste his disapproval. **IT IS YOUR SWORD. FREELY GIVEN, JUSTLY EARNED. WHERE IS IT?**

She silently walks over to the hearth. “Here is my sword.” Eve gestures towards where it happily burns. The words sit heavy on her tongue. “What would you have me do with it, angel?”

**TAKE IT. GO FORTH INTO THE WILDERNESS.**

 

Without protest, she pulls it free, minding the embers. “Why?” The first woman asks. “Is there a task I am meant to complete?”

**YOU WILL FULFILL YOUR DESTINY.** Death proclaims. **IT IS WHAT YOU WERE MEANT FOR.**

“I see.” She says without seeing. “Would you come and keep me company?”

**YES. THERE IS NOTHING ELSE TO DO.**

A woman walks off into the wilderness with Death by her side. She does not say goodbye.

 

A man returns home to find the hearth empty. It is not a good omen, but he does not weep. He cannot claim to know how. 

The woman walks for seconds upon minutes upon hours upon days upon weeks upon months upon years. In that time, she starves more than she’s ever starved before, and experiences more illness than she is used to, but she survives. Death matches every step she takes.*

*There is a road they are following, but neither of them know it. Famine and Pestilence reside on this road, for it is the place of their birth.

 

**WHEN YOU ATE THE APPLE,** Death tells her, **I FINALLY KNEW MY PURPOSE. YOU WILL SOON KNOW YOURS.**

“When?” Through everything, she has held on to the sword. “When will I see it?” 

**WHEN WE REACH OUR DESTINATION.**

 

At the end of the road is an ambush. People melt from the shadows and attack a lone traveler. They fall at her blade. 

An idea occurs to Eve. “Old friend, what if people were to do that on a larger scale? What would they call it?”

Death considers the question. **HERE, IT IS A FIGHT. LARGER ONES WILL BE BRAWLS, AND THEN BATTLES. AND BATTLES WILL BE THE SIGN OF WAR.**

“War.” It slides out of Eve easily, like it was meant to be said by her alone. It is the last thing she ever says. 

She sits and rests, flaming sword in hand. She never rises again.

 

“You did a good job, sweetheart.” War pats her still warm cheek. “But it’s my turn now. And my sword.” 

**ONE FLAMING SWORD.** Death intones. **EARNED THROUGH BLOODSHED, ASSIGNED A PRICE. ONE COULD DO A LOT OF HARM WITH SOMETHING LIKE THAT.**

“Oh, I intend to.” War bares her teeth. “Ah, you would not  _ believe  _ the ideas I have.”

Death rolls his shoulders. He has an inkling. **TELL ME ABOUT THEM.** **

**Two horseless horsemen walk down a road. Two others try to catch up. There’s a joke in here somewhere.

* * *

Here is a million dollar question: if Carmine Zuigiber tells you a war’s cause, do you believe her? 

* * *

Sword against stick. Pepper wields one. War wields another. Despite all appearances, one has the advantage.

“This is a game, but it’s not fun anymore.” She snarls at the horseman. “I don’t believe in horrible games. You know what I believe in?”

“Run along, little girl.” War ignores her. She is too fixated on the forces tugging at her very being. Heaven, hell, Earth… everyone wants a battle. Everyone craves her, needs her, basks in her. Who is this girl to distract her from her purpose? “Give in.”

“ _ No _ .” She moves in for the kill. “I believe in peace, bitch.”

 

When it is sword against stick, it is essential to believe that your weapon works best. War is capable of many things, but a child’s imagination is even more adept at the game of pretend. 

The addition of one more will tears her apart. Abstract concepts do not hold up well in the face of youthful idealism. 

 

**YOU MAY KILL ALL OF MY COMPANIONS, BUT THEY WILL BE BACK.** She misses Death’s words before his hasty retreat. **AND YOU CANNOT VANQUISH ME.**

“You never know.” Adam threatens mildly. “If I tried hard enough, I’d find a way. Just watch.” 

 

The final horsemen flees. War isn’t aware for any of it.

 

Elsewhere, Pestilence feels like he’s dodged a bullet. 

They regroup a month later.

“It’s weird to see a principality getting so heavily involved.” War twirls the sword. It’s been mailed back to her, but she can tell she’ll need a replacement. It’s not hers anymore. “He almost seemed familiar.” 

“You’ve met him?” Famine examines her face, puzzled by whatever he sees there. “How? When?”

“Not in any traditional sort of way.” She hums. “But he… well, they both felt like I knew them without  _ knowing  _ them. You know?”

 

“That’s absurd.” He rebukes her. “You can’t just know someone without knowing it! Words mean something, regardless of if you’re trying to be clever or not.”

Pollution frowns from across the room. “Be nice.” They chide him. He elects to ignore it.

**WAR IS RIGHT.** Death tosses in his two cents. **SHE DOES KNOW THEM. WE ALL DO. ONE WIELDED THE APPLE AND HIS WORDS. ONE WIELDED THE SWORD AND HIS HEART. JUST AS WE WERE BORN FROM HUNGER, FROM SLUDGE, AND FROM SPACE DUST, SHE WAS BORN FROM BLOOD.**

 

War smiles at the sword. “See, I knew I knew them. They’re an odd sort of bunch to delay the inevitable.”

Death shrugs, returning to his trivia game. **NO ONE CAN HELP BEING HUMAN. IT’S THE WAY OF THE WORLD.**

 

Raven Sable excuses himself. He has a business to run. Chalky exits the scene quietly. Oil spills won’t cause themselves. Carmine Zuigiber nods at Death before leaving as well, sword in hand. She intends to mail it as soon as possible before getting back to the lucrative business of waiting patiently for her moment.

_ It’s like waiting for Christmas.  _ She thinks again.  _ Or birthdays. The bloodiest birthday of them all.  _

It is a good day. There has been a lot of them. There will be a lot more.

Death continues to play, and gets everything right. War continues to dream bigger. 

Everything is slightly right with the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's it then. Uh. Cool. Directly quoted the book and the show a few times, so there's that off my bucket list. Rad.
> 
> I care a lot about the hierarchy of angels for no clear reason. It always seems to come up in the little pieces I pen. Feel free to ask me to explain them in detail elsewhere. 
> 
> Come chat at bi-hop (my Tumblr) if you like Pokémon, Good Omens, and sprinkling in the fact that people defy God!!!


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